It's Funny
by Olivia94
Summary: In one moment, one breath, one second, everything changes. One moment things are normal and happy and right, and the next just…cold. One moment you have your whole life ahead of you, the next you don't see how you can live for one more minute. Character death
1. Juliet

**Welcome to my very first deathfic. I don't know what came over me and made me write this. I'm not even sad right now. Just inspired.**

**I was writing the next chapter of my current story "The Wrongly Accused" where Shawn and Juliet are in a similar situation, and wondered how it would play out if he died. So I decided to write it. **

**I wasn't even going to post this, but I figured 'Why not?' and did. I hope you enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Psych**

**OooOooO**

It's funny. People always say that these kinds of things happen in slow motion. They say that when you have to just sit and watch as someone you care about suffers, a minute seems like a lifetime.

It's funny because it's a lie.

It happens in an instant.

In one moment, one breath, one second, everything changes. One moment things are normal and happy and right, and the next just…cold. One moment you have your whole life ahead of you, the next you don't see how you can live for one more minute. One moment he's alive, the next he's dead.

I could go through the details. I could tell you about the perp we were chasing, and I could tell you about how he was shot, and I could tell you how he died. But it doesn't matter. Not anymore. He's gone. He's dead. Why does it matter?

He was the kind of guy that seemed immortal. The idea of him dying—of him essentially ceasing to exist—is just too…impossible. Inconceivable. _Wrong. _

He had so much life in him. He had this love of living that is so rare and beautiful that it breaks me to see it gone.

I feel cold. Empty. Alone. It's like someone took away the sun. How can I live without the sun?

The regret is swallowing me. Every cross word I said to him, every time I ignored him, every time I turned him down. There shouldn't be so many of them. Maybe if there weren't things would be different. I don't know how, but still. Maybe.

Maybe I could have stopped it. I _am _the cop. It should've been me, not him. I should've been the one to disappear. It should've been me.

People keep telling me not to think like that. They keep telling me that I did everything I could and that I should meet new people. God, how I want to shoot them. Do they not get it? Do they not get that he's dead? As in gone forever.

I'll never see his face again or his smile. I'll never hear him making fun of my partner again or shamelessly flirting with me. I'll never feel that little flutter my heart does every time he walks by.

I just don't get it. I don't get how my entire live revolves around helping people—saving them—and I couldn't save the only one that's ever mattered. How messed up is that? Why does it work that way? Why can someone give so much to have everything taken away?

Because everything _was _taken away from me. My faith. My hope. My happiness. The love I had for my job. Him. Everything.

And now I'm just… empty. Broken. Cold. I've used those words a lot lately. I've used them because there's really no other way to describe how I feel.

All I want to do is cry or scream or die. I want to just scream my pain from the rooftops. I want the pain to end. I want—no, _need_—the pain to stop.

But how? That's right. There is no how. There is no way. So I've done the only thing I can. I'm numb. I'm empty. I'm cold. There's nothing left in me. I'm like the oyster without the pearl.

They say it will pass. Everybody says it will. And maybe they're right. I'm young, healthy—unless my job claims me I've got a long way to go. Maybe I'll heal. Maybe I'll move on. But I'll never forget.

OooOooO

_She had to make a choice. She could go after him, or she could wait for back up. If she waited, a dangerous killer would most likely get away. _

"_Stay here, Shawn. Wait for back up and then follow me," Juliet ordered, pointing to the ground at her feet for emphasis. _

"_You can't seriously think I'm going to let you chase that psycho alone," Shawn said, more serious than she'd ever seen him._

"_This isn't up for discussion, Shawn. Stay here," Without waiting for a response Juliet set off, full out sprinting after the suspect. She didn't turn back. Not once. _

_When Juliet turned a corner she saw the barrel of a gun. Acting purely on instinct, the detective dove to the ground. The gun went off, putting a harmless hole in the wall. Seconds after she hit the ground she heard another gunshot from the suspect's weapon. Juliet didn't have time to wonder where it went, as she was busy aiming and firing her own weapon. _

_Her bullet hit its mark, ripping straight through the perp's upper torso. He hit the ground with a resounding thud. He was dead before he reached the floor. _

_Juliet stood up and replaced her weapon in its holster. Then she heard a pained whimper. Immediately she knew what had happened, though she prayed she was wrong. Slowly the detective turned towards the noise. _

_Her heart stopped. _

_There lay Shawn in an increasingly large pool of his own blood._

"_Shawn!" An agonized scream cut through the room. _

_Juliet ran as fast as she could to her friend and fell to her knees beside him. _

"_Oh God, Shawn," She cried, seeing the severity of his condition. The criminal's bullet had ripped through Shawn's stomach, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. _

"_Th-That b-bad?" He shot Juliet a pained smile. The detective could feel her heart break. _

_She took off her jacket, balled it up, and pushed it into Shawn's stomach, eliciting a cry of pain from the man. _

"_Sorry, Shawn, but it's necessary. Just until the paramedics get here to take you to the hospital."_

"_Jules. Y-You d-didn't call f-for a param-medic," Shawn stuttered painfully._

_Juliet's heart sank to her toes. Shawn was right. She had requested back up, but not an ambulance. _

_She stuffed one hand into her pocket, keeping the other firmly over Shawn's wound, and dialed. _

"_We have a man down, I repeat, man down! Requesting medical assistance immediately!" She spoke into the phone, trying to keep her voice as level and controlled as possible._

_When finished Juliet snapped her phone shut and returned her attention to Shawn. His breathing was becoming increasingly labored, and his blood was soaking through her jacket. _

"_Just hang in there, Shawn," She begged him, barely restraining her tears. _

_Shawn managed to lift his right hand and grasp onto her wrist. "I'm trying Jules. I just don't think that I… that I…" He was breathing heavily between words, "that…I…can."_

_Juliet felt a single tear slip down her cheek, but made no move to wipe it away. "Don't say that, Shawn. You're going to be just fine."_

_Shawn smiled sadly. Juliet realized that he was crying. "No, Jules. I'm not." His voice broke. Juliet gave up her battle against her tears. _

_Shawn lifted the hand that was holding Juliet's up to his face. He held it against his forehead for a moment, closing his eyes at the contact, kissed it, and then his grip relaxed. His eyes closed. _

"_No! Shawn! Please, Shawn! Don't do this!" Juliet cried. She grabbed his shoulders and started shaking them. "Wake up, Shawn! Don't you dare do this to me! Please! Please, Shawn, wake up!" She screamed. _

"_O'Hara!" Juliet didn't even register her name being called. "O'Hara! Juliet!" She felt the familiar presence of her partner behind her as he laid a hand on her shoulder. Juliet shoved him off. _

"_Come on, Shawn!" She continued to scream and sob and shake Shawn, trying to wake him up. _

"_Stop it, O'Hara. He's gone. Let him go," Lassiter reasoned with her. His voice sounded just as broken as she looked. _

_When Juliet refused, Lassiter griped her shoulders firmly and pried her away from the psychic. She fought against him, but was no match for his strength._

"_No, let me go! Shawn!" She cried hysterically. She kicked and struggled, but Lassiter maintained his iron grip on her shoulders. _

_After a moment Lassiter turned Juliet around to face him and let her collapse onto him, sobs wracking her body. Violent, broken sobs. _

_Lassiter felt the psychic's blood soaking from Juliet's clothes to his, but he didn't care. He looked over his partner's shoulder to Shawn and felt something inside of him break. He was laying, spread eagle, with his shirt drenched in blood. His face looked calm and peaceful, contradicting the rest of his appearance. _

_He didn't know how long he stood there, just holding Juliet. They were still standing there after Shawn's body was taken from the scene. He thought it was best: She didn't need to see Shawn like that anymore. She didn't need to remember him like that._

_When she finally pulled away, it took Lassiter one glance to know that nothing would ever be the same. _

**OooOooO**

**Wow. That was sort of depressing. I seriously cried writing this. The saddest thing I've ever written, for sure. **

**Please review, guys! I really appreciate hearing what you have to say.**


	2. Gus

**Mmkay, I know I said that this would be a one-shot, but y'all inspired me. I'm going to write a chapter for a bunch of characters, all about the exact same event. **

**Thanks so much for everyone that reviewed! This story is WAY out of my comfort zone, so it means a lot :D**

**OooOooO**

I was at home when I found out. Actually, I was at home when it happened, too.

Why was at home, you wonder? I had a big presentation the next day-very important-and I told him that I couldn't go. Normally he'd get mad at me when I chose my 'real' job over Psych, but he didn't this time. I don't know why.

I wish he did.

If he had gotten mad at me, we would have fought. If we had fought, he would have won. If he had won, I would have gone with him. If I had gone with him, he wouldn't have died.

It's really pretty screwed up, isn't it? The whole situation.

Whoever you are, there's a good chance you have a best friend. Now imagine that that best friend—the one person in the entire world who _really _knows you—is ripped away from you in an instant. Imagine that right now, right this second, you get a phone call. You don't think it's anything special, just a phone call. But when you answer it there's a person on the other end telling you that your best friend, your brother, is dead.

First you won't believe it. Maybe you'll laugh, say that whoever it is needs to stop making jokes. Then you'll realize it isn't a joke. It's real. This person really thinks your best friend is dead. You'll rush to the hospital; ask the front desk for his room. Then they'll tell you that he's not in a room. He's in the morgue.

You still don't believe it. You run as fast as you can to the morgue. You don't even wait for the elevator: it's way too slow so you take the stairs. Then you see him. Bloody and broken on a slab of a table, covered by nothing but a sheet. Your friends are there—your family. You yell at them, "It's not him! Stop it! It's not funny! Where is he?" They look at you with pity. "He's gone", they tell you, "We're sorry".

Can you imagine that?

No. It's not something you can imagine. You can only know if it's happened to you. I could try to tell you what it feels like, but I'll never do it justice. The pain is unbearable. Indescribable.

He was my best friend in the entire world. I told him everything; he told me everything. I would do anything for him; he would do anything for me. I trusted him with my life. Even when he would be unbelievably obnoxious, I always knew he would be there for me.

Not anymore. Now he's gone, and I'm alone.

OooOooO

"_Burton Guster, how may I help you?" Gus answered his phone cheerfully. He was in a good mood; Shawn had let him stay behind today so that he could finish his presentation. He hadn't even complained. Gus didn't know it, but Shawn was actually a little relieved that Gus didn't want to go on what was sure to be an incredibly dangerous stakeout. _

"_Gus?" Juliet's voice came through the shifty connection. Maybe it was just the bad signal, but she sounded like she had been crying._

"_Juliet? What's going on? Is everything okay?" Gus's voice was tinged with worry—he hadn't missed the sadness lacing his friend's voice. _

"_N-no, Gus. It's Shawn."_

_Gus felt his heart stop. "Is he okay?" He asked, but he knew the answer._

_Juliet took a moment to answer. "He's gone, Gus."_

"_What? Where did he go? If he left again he's going to have to deal with me," Juliet wasn't fooled by Gus's words. He knew what she meant. _

"_He's dead, Gus. Shawn is dead," Juliet burst into fresh sobs at the words. Somehow saying them aloud made them so much more real. _

_Gus surprised Juliet by laughing out loud. Hysterical, desperate laughter. "He put you up to this, didn't he? Come on, let me talk to him." _

_Juliet started sobbing harder. _

"_I'm sorry, Gus. I'm so, so sorry." She lost it completely. So overcome with sobs, Juliet passed the phone off to Lassiter. _

"_Guster?" Even Lassiter's voice sounded sad._

"_What's going on, Lassiter? Why does Juliet keep saying that Shawn is dead?" _

"_I'm sorry, Guster. He was taken to the county hospital ten minutes ago, even though there's no hope. Standard procedure," Lassiter's voice came out stoic—a mask to hide the pain that he was feeling at the loss. _

_Gus didn't reply. He just hung up the phone and sprinted to his car. _

"_What room is Shawn Spencer in?" Gus demanded of the lady behind the desk at the entrance of the emergency room. He had sped the entire way to get to the hospital. He was stopped once, but it turned out to be Buzz in the patrol car. He let him go with nothing but an 'I'm so sorry'. _

_The lady entered the name into her computer and came up empty. "I'm sorry, sir, but he's not in here." _

"_No! You're wrong! He has to be here! Shawn, spelled S-h-a-w-n."_

_She checked the computer again and her face immediately shone with sympathy. _

"_Shawn Spencer isn't in a room; he's in the morgue. I am so sorry."_

_Gus didn't hear her apology, he was already running. He sprinted to the elevator, slammed the 'down' button, waited about five seconds, and then decided to take the stairs. _

_He burst through the doors of the morgue. Lassiter, Juliet, Henry and the Chief were all there. And on the table…_

"_No," Gus whispered. On the table lay the body of Shawn Spencer. It was undeniably him. "No!" He screamed, "It's not him! Stop it! It's not funny anymore! Where is he?" _

_They all looked at him with pity. It was Juliet who spoke up, voice rough and shaky from crying. "I'm so sorry, Gus."  
_

"_Stop it! Stop saying you're sorry. You don't need to be sorry, it's not him!"_

_Lassiter walked over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "He's gone, Guster. He's dead. I'm sorry." _

_Gus began crying. He stared at the broken body of his best friend. He didn't want to believe it, but he knew it was true: Shawn Spencer was dead. _

**OooOooO**

**Okay, so that was super sad. Why do I keep doing this to myself? **

**Please review guys! I'd love to hear what you think! Thanks :D**


	3. Henry

**So, did anyone else forget about this story, or was it just me? I'm really sorry it's been so long (like, over a year or something ridiculous like that), but I just wasn't inspired to write this chapter until recently. Thanks for reading! **

**OooOooO**

I always wanted the kid to be just like me.

I knew I wanted my son to be a cop the second that nurse told me that I had a baby boy. He'd follow in his old man's footsteps. Make me proud every step of the way.

It happens like that a lot on the force; a family will send generation after generation to the academy like some kind of dynasty. I wanted that. I wanted to be the first of a long line of Detective Spencers, each better than the last, starting with my son.

But I didn't anticipate the problem with my master plan: he _wasn't_ like me. That kid was the ultimate evidence of the "nature" half of the "nature versus nurture" debate. He had a total lack of discipline and drive. He was embarrassingly disorganized and always up to asinine antics. It's not that he didn't have the skillset—the kid had more talent than I ever dreamed of—he just didn't want it. I never gave up on him, though. I kept pushing him, kept guiding him, always hoping that he would see the light and put that gift of his to good use.

As he was growing up that's what gave me the courage to do some of the things I did. Staring down the barrel of a gun I'd sometimes imagine what would happen if I died—whether he would be angry about my death and vow to keep the world safe from the dirt bags who killed me, or if he would be so inspired by my sacrifice that he'd decide he wanted to be a hero just like his dad. At my funeral he'd be handed a folded flag and he'd be reminded of who I was and what I died for, and he'd know I did it for him. I gave my life to make the world safe for my only son. My boy.

I never once imagined what it would be like the other way around.

Not once did I think that I'd ever experience these emotions—that I'd be so furious about his death that I'd swear vengeance on monsters like the one who killed him, or that I'd be so in awe of the man I raised that I'd wish that I was more like him, so warm and caring and genuine. I never pictured his funeral. Never thought that it would be me who was staring down at that folded flag just trying to wrap my mind around the fact that my only son was dead.

But it did happen, and as I sat with my eyes trained on that piece of fabric that meant so much more than anyone could ever know, I tried desperately to do for my boy what I imagined him doing for me. I thought about who he was and what he died for.

He was my son. He was the screw up who always managed to do right by people. He was a friend. He was a coworker. He was an idealist. He was the kind of person who would give his heart and soul to helping someone he didn't even know.

He was the kind of person who would die to help someone he cared about. And that's what he did. He didn't know he'd die, but I know my son well enough to know that he'd have done the same thing even if he knew. He would never have been able to stand by and wait while someone he loved was in danger, and for that I am so damned proud of the kid.

Shawn wasn't the same man that I am. He was so much better.

OooOooO

_Henry Spencer was driving like he'd never driven before. His mind was focused on only one thing: Getting to the hospital as fast as humanly possible. _

_He didn't think about why he had to get there or what he would find when he did—he couldn't think about that. He wouldn't. _

_Getting that phone call was nothing less than a surreal experience. In his time on the force he'd become very familiar with the infamous call, even having to make it a few times himself. Over the years, Henry had heard more superstitions on the matter than he could remember. The main one that had stayed with him, though, was the claim that people who received the call knew what it was about the second they answered the phone—some knew even before. A sort of creeping sensation of dread preceded the feared phone call that changed lives forever. _

_Henry now knew that the fabled sensation was nothing more than an urban legend. When he answered his phone that evening he was in a state of blissful ignorance. _

"_Henry Spencer," He answered his home line in his customary fashion._

"_Henry-" Chief Vick's voice came through the receiver._

"_Oh, hi, Karen. I'm sorry, but do you mind if I call you back in a little while? Store is about to close and I need to return these steaks—idiots gave me some sort of sirloin instead of ribeye."_

"_It's Shawn, Henry." Karen pushed forwards, ignoring Henry's request._

_The older Spencer sighed. "What's he done now?" He asked wearily._

"_There's been an accident."_

"_What sort of accident? He broke something, didn't he? Please tell me whatever it is is insured," Henry rambled, completely oblivious. _

"_No, Henry. Shawn has been in an accident."_

_Henry was silent. He was standing frozen in his kitchen, his mind racing with the possible ramifications of Karen's statement. _

"_I'm so sorry, Henry," Karen spoke up after a few seconds, "but he didn't make it."_

_Henry Spencer remained unmoving. His mind had stopped racing and started screaming. He was asleep. This was a nightmare. It had to be. _

Please, please, please let this be a nightmare. _Henry begged silently, the only visible sign of his anguish being the slight tremor in his hand that was holding the phone._

"_They've taken him to the county hospital if you want to see him. I'm so sorry," The chief's voice was tinged with sadness as she had her one-sided conversation. She stayed on the line dutifully until Henry hung up the phone without a word._

_As he drove, Henry's mind rebelled against his continued silence. Inside his head he was yelling, crying, screaming about the injustice of it all._

He's not even a cop, _Henry thought, _This isn't supposed to happen. This can't be happening.

_Henry arrived at the hospital and ran at a sprint through the double doors of the front entrance. It didn't take him long to spot a red-faced, teary-eyed, miserable looking Detective O'Hara and a pale, sick-looking Detective Lassiter. The partners were sitting in the waiting room, but jumped up upon seeing him._

_Juliet ran over to him immediately and embraced him as if he somehow had the power to bring Shawn back. _

"_I'm so sorry, Henry," O'Hara cried, her tears dampening his shirt instantly, "I'm so, so sorry," She pulled away and looked him in the eyes imploringly, "This is all my fault. He was just trying to protect me. I didn't know he was behind me—I told him to stay but he didn't listen—I killed the guy, but not before he shot Shawn. I never meant for this to happen. I didn't mean for—" _

_Henry cut her off by hugging her in the way she had hugged him seconds before. She was blaming herself. Henry Spencer may not have been there and he may not have even really known what had happened, but he knew that his son wouldn't want this girl to blame herself._

_The two clung to each other for support for a few seconds before they broke apart. _

"_I'm so sorry," Juliet whispered one more time. Henry, unable to find his voice, nodded, hoping she'd understand what he meant. _

"_They're moving him down to the morgue," Detective Lassiter finally spoke up, "We'll be able to see him in a few minutes."_

_The Detective looked disheveled and shocked—a fact that surprised Henry considering the nature of the less than friendly relationship that he had had with Shawn. _

_The three didn't have to wait long. In the short amount of time before they were taken to see Shawn, O'Hara and Lassiter had a heart breaking conversation with Gus, and the Chief arrived, offering comfort to O'Hara and merciful distance to Henry._

_About fifteen minutes after Henry had arrived, the group was informed that Shawn was ready to be seen. Henry's feet were taking him to the lower levels of the hospital before his brain was able to process what was happening. The nagging sense of dread that had been steadily growing slid up to a crescendo when the doors of the elevator opened in the morgue._

_He could immediately see the body, although he was far enough away to deny its identity. It wasn't until he got closer that Henry could make out the unmistakable features of his son. _

_And it was there, standing over the body of his only child, that Henry Spencer finally allowed himself to cry._

**OooOooO**

**Yeah, okay, that was tough to write. I'm not so sure I like it. I'm a 17 year old girl, the youngest in my family, and I've never had someone close to me die, so this was quite a stretch for me. I hope I did okay with it!**

**So, before I'm mobbed by readers of my other stories that haven't been updated in decades, let me explain that I've been writing this during school over the past couple of weeks. I didn't even realize what I was writing when I started, but eventually I realized that it could be added onto this story so I did!**

**I do intend on writing a Lassie chapter, but I'll be honest. It could be a day before I update, or it could be a year. This kind of story requires me to be inspired before I start writing, so thanks for your patience!**

**I'd really appreciate any feedback you can give me! Please review! Thanks :D**


	4. Lassiter

**Hey! Remember this story? Let's be real, probably not. **

**Just keep in mind that I started this story in 2010, so this is 2010 Lassiter (so like season 4—but Shawn and Juliet weren't dating yet)**

OooOooO

In my time as a detective I've seen some seriously disturbing things.

We're talking the grizzliest murders you can imagine. Men and women who kill their own children. Serial killers and rapists and kidnappers—you name it, I've seen it. Sometimes people ask me how I sleep at night. How can I live my day-to-day life so casually when I'm constantly seeing that darkest side of mankind?

Easily. That's my job. That's what I signed up for. I sleep easily every night because I know that there are brave men and women like myself who don't stand for the horrible things that happen. Who will bring lowlife criminals to justice.

But I've realized recently that sometimes justice isn't enough.

Because in all of my years on the force, out of all of the horrifying crime scenes that I have processed, out of all of the crimes that I have solved—even out of all of the crimes that I have failed to solve—nothing has ever haunted me as much as the sight of my partner on her hands and knees, covered in blood, screaming over the body of Shawn Spencer.

Not even close.

I didn't even know that Spencer was there that night—I should have, that damn Psychic found his way onto every single crime scene I ever—Well, the point is that I didn't. I was coming up the alley and I could hear O'Hara's voice. I could tell that she was in distress but it didn't make sense. O'Hara would never beg for mercy from some scumbag. And her voice was stronger than it would be if she had been hurt.

It made no sense until I saw Spencer. Then that made sense, but everything else stopped making sense.

The perp was dead, lying just a few yards away from O'Hara. Justice had been served, but that sure as hell didn't make the situation any better.

Look, I don't want to get all mushy and pretend that Spencer and I were all buddy-buddy just because he's dead. We weren't friends and, to be honest, he annoyed the hell out of me. The very morning of the day he died he got a hold of my cell phone and changed the language settings to Spanish. I fiddled around with it as he watched, moving from various vantage points throughout the station, for half an hour and was about to throw it into a wall before I realize that O'Hara speaks Spanish. I didn't see him again until I turned the corner of the alley.

But underneath the fourth grade personality he had one of the greatest investigative minds I ever saw, and I'll always respect him for that. He didn't deserve to die. Guster didn't deserve for him to die. Henry didn't either. O'Hara certainly didn't.

Since it happened she's just been…I don't know. She gets her work done. She refused to take time off. O'Hara's a top of the line detective and nothing can get in the way of that, not even this. But I don't have to ask her if we can ride in silence anymore.

For as much as she's changed, Guster and Henry have morphed a hundred times more. I haven't seen either of them nearly as much. I saw them at the funeral and then maybe once or twice besides that and…it's just…it's wrong. In the second that it took for me to turn that corner everything changed. Everything and everyone. Even me. And yeah, we killed the bad guy, which is great for humanity, but that doesn't change the fact that he killed Spencer. It doesn't change the fact that O'Hara isn't even O'Hara anymore.

Justice was served. But this time justice wasn't enough.

OooOooO

_Carlton pulled up to the curb and jumped out of his car, immediately spotting his partner's vehicle. He also noticed a motorcycle that seemed vaguely familiar, but chose to ignore it for the time being. There were more pressing matters at hand. _

_Lassiter glanced around and ascertained that there were three different directions in which Juliet could have followed the suspect. He quickly dispatched officers to pursue two of the paths, taking the central one himself: a moderately wide alleyway that turned off sharply to the left. The detective figured that that was most likely the way that the perp had gone, as the other two directions consisted primarily of open road. _

_When he was about halfway down the alleyway Lassiter heard his partner's voice. He immediately slunk to one side of the passage, moving quietly yet quickly, gun at the ready. As Lassiter got closer, O'Hara's voice became clearer. Something was wrong. The detective could hear tears in his partner's voice. Carlton quickened his pace. His mind was racing, imagining everything he could possibly find when he turned that corner. _

_Lassiter came to the end of the alley just as O'Hara started screaming. _

_He threw caution to the wind, stepping out from behind the wall, gun raised, searching for a target. His customary declaration of identity died in his throat as he took in the scene before him. _

_Juliet was on her knees in the small open area. She was facing Lassiter, but hadn't taken notice of his arrival. She was covered in blood, crying and screaming. Her hands gripped the shoulders of a prone figure on the ground with a whole through his stomach. Lassiter felt his heart stop for a moment when he realized who it was._

_Shawn Spencer. He was dead._

"_Wake up, Shawn! Don't you dare do this to me!" _

_Carlton swallowed and slowly holstered his gun, taking a moment to compose himself. He muttered something about making sure paramedics were on their way to the officer who had accompanied him._

"_O'Hara," Lassiter called gently, approaching his partner as if she were a wounded animal._

_She didn't seem to hear him. If anything, Juliet became more frantic. She began shaking Shawn's shoulders none-too-gently. _

"_Please! Please, Shawn, wake up!"_

"_O'Hara! O'Hara! Juliet!" Carlton built up to practically shouting. He placed his hand on his partner's shoulder hoping to ground her to reality in some way._

_Juliet shoved his hand away, smearing a streak of the psychic's blood onto his sleeve as she did so. _

_Carlton stared at the redness for a second before returning his attention back to his partner. _

"_Come on, Shawn!" She continued to plead, her voice desperate and broken. _

"_Stop it, O'Hara," Lassiter told her, sickened by the sight of her fruitlessly shaking Spencer's body, "He's gone. Let him go."_

_Juliet shook her head vehemently. _

_The older detective felt an unprecedented level of compassion well up within him at the sight before him. Juliet O'Hara, a woman he'd come to think of as strong and confident and in control, looked completely lost and absolutely broken. _

_He reached out and placed both hands on Juliet's shoulders, gently yet firmly pulling her away from Spencer's body. He murmured meaningless words of comfort as she struggled to get back to Shawn._

"_No! Let me go! Shawn!"_

_Juliet thrashed violently, her heel connecting with Lassiter's shin on more than one occasion. But still Lassiter held fast, enduring the occasional blow until Juliet calmed enough for him to turn her to him and away from the body of her friend. She crumbled immediately, wrapping her arms around his chest and burying her face into his shoulder._

_And so Carlton held his partner as she cried, heartbroken. He looked at the dead psychic on the ground and felt a pang in his chest. He was so young. He had never realized how young the kid was. _

_As paramedics swarmed the scene far too late, Lassiter noticed another form on the ground. He didn't want to move to investigate further, but even from his current position he could clearly make out the shape of a body. A few feet away from the body he saw a gun that had evidently clattered away from the man when he hit the ground. _

_Vaguely Lassiter realized that the dead man on the ground must be Spencer's murderer. O'Hara must have killed him. That was a good thing. That should be a good thing, at least. That was justice, of the poetic variety, maybe, but justice all the same. Right had been done. _

_So why did he feel so empty?_

_Carlton Lassiter didn't sleep a wink that night._

**OooOooO**

**This, my friends, is the true definition of procrastination. I started this story when I was fifteen years old. I haven't updated in two years and yet, the week before finals, I am struck by inspiration. Crazy, right?**

**Anyways, this really will be the last chapter. I'd say it's been a blast and I guess that that would be mostly true? This story is extremely depressing. But it's been fascinating for me from a psychological standpoint. I really like that kind of stuff and don't generally explore it in my other stuff, so it was an interesting test to my writing skills I suppose.**

**One reason of many that this chapter took so long is that I really had no idea what angle to approach it from. Part of me wanted to make this based on a Shawn and Lassiter friendship, but I don't honestly think that there was one to work with going off of season 4. And then Lassiter keeps his emotions close to the chest, so I didn't want him to be like "I acted like I hated him but I really actually liked him" because I don't think he'd be like that. So I chose to focus more on how the event affected the way he looks at the law and his relationship with Juliet. I'm interested to hear what y'alls thoughts are!**

**I also know the flashback is basically just a rewrite of the first chapter's, but I tried to put it from Lassiter's perspective to see how that changes things. Also it's kind of fun to see 15 year old me vs 19 year old me. I feel like, sadly, I haven't improved all that much. I need to write more. **

**OKAY, this AN has been super long. Thanks for sticking with it, if you did! I'd love to hear what you think! Thanks for reading! :D **


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